Sometimes
by RaphaellaLacey
Summary: My unashamedly slushy attempt at a 'bold Shelagh' fic. Not quite smutty enough for an M rating me thinks, but be warned ;)
1. Four o'clock in the afternoon

**I couldn't help myself, and wrote a bold-Shelagh fic of my own. May even write a series of ficlets if you want me to! :P**

"I'm a bold girl," she teased, with a rather contradictory flush of pink blooming on her cheeks. She looked demurely down at her hand, holding the cigarette with utmost delicacy. She noticed the hairs on her wrist standing to attention; she could feel every pore on her body tingling with an electric consciousness of his ever intensifying scrutiny. Patrick's heart clenched with adoration topped only by a not-unpleasant jolt of surprise at the provocative words that had just come out of his usually so reserved wife's mouth. Seeing the spark of shock and the unmistakable glint of base desire in his eyes Shelagh smiled coyly and bowed her head. "Sometimes."

The momentary silence that followed hung charged and palpable amongst the wisps of cigarette smoke. Shelagh brought her Henley up to her lips, flicking her gaze up to meet his for the most fleeting of seconds. Was it him imagining things, or did she linger on that draw for a moment longer than entirely necessary? Her resolute avoidance of his gaze and steadily deepening blush indicated she probably did. Clenching his cigarette between his teeth, Patrick simultaneously raked his fingers through his already shambolic hair and ran a hand along the inside of his collar. His wife really did look extremely sexy when she smoked, and at that moment he couldn't for the life of him work out why he had neglected to offer her one more often. As he observed her sitting primly on the sofa, exhaling wisps of smoke from perfectly pouting lips, all his instincts told him to take her in his arms there and then. But Timothy was only a stone's throw away in the kitchen doing his homework. It was the middle of the afternoon.

Clearing his throat, Patrick turned to support himself against the mantel piece, tearing his eyes away from the delicious and strangely intriguing sight before him. "Oh, I'd say you're a bold girl more than sometimes," he teased, loosening his tie, not entirely sure where he was going with this; Shelagh's unexpected frankness had thrown him a little, and made him throw caution to the wind.

"Oh yes?" she prompted, her voice cutting perfectly sweet and clear behind him.

"That pencil skirt for a start."

Shelagh stifled a laugh and drew thoughtfully on her cigarette, eyes never leaving his back, trying to gauge his reactions from the slope of his back and the rise and fall of his shoulders as he took long, slow breaths. "Go on," she murmured.

"Oh I don't know. You've locked my office door once or twice." Patrick closed his eyes and swallowed, thankful he was facing away from his wife. He did not want to push her too far, but he just couldn't seem to exercise much as much restraint as he would like at that moment.

Suddenly, Patrick felt a warm flutter of breath against his neck and startled, almost dropping his cigarette and setting fire to the carpet. In a bold move that surprised them both Shelagh had succumbed to the perilous turn this conversation had rapidly taken and was now flush against Patrick's back, tiptoeing to bring her lips close enough to tantalisingly tickle his skin but not enough to satisfy his rapidly building need for her touch. "I've always felt I could be more bold," she smiled, her voice, perhaps from the smoke but also from something more, unusually husky.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice unreadable but the jagged quality of the intake of breath that followed clear evidence of his quickly crumbling reserve.

Shelagh took a step back from him and continued silently smoking, glancing over to the kitchen hatch to make sure she had been correct in thinking it was safely down. The tension in the air was heady to say the least, and she suddenly felt the need to sit down, returning to her place on the settee as if none of that provocative episode had happened. The blush was to remain firmly on her cheeks though, as Patrick, drawn like a magnet to her side, now came to stand over her. He stubbed his cigarette resolutely on the side table, his dark, glinting eyes never leaving her face for a second.

Usually Shelagh smiled coyly and looked away whenever he fixed her with that heart-stopping gaze, waiting for the tender fingers beneath her chin to gently raise her face, followed without fail by a feather-light kiss dropped on her upturned lips. But today something was different; she did not break eye-contact, but stared back at him testily, feeling her heart race as she viewed unabashedly the effect this new bold Shelagh was having on her husband.

When Patrick gave one last sigh of defeat and bent to kiss her, Shelagh put her hand up to stop him and raised her eyebrows, a smirk of pure smugness on her face. "I want to finish my cigarette," she pouted. "This might be the only offer I'll get for a while."

"Don't bet on it," Patrick growled, and Shelagh despite herself giggled at the pained expression ingrained on his disarrayed features. "I'd like to see more of bold Shelagh," he added, shutting his eyes as she arched an eyebrow and slowly placed the last stub of her Henley to her lips. "Where in heaven's name did you learn to be such a calculating flirt?" he groaned, still avoiding looking at the siren who sat so temptingly beside him.

Before he could say another word, Shelagh had thrown her cigarette aside and was once more tickling the side of his face with her breath. "Kiss me darling," she whispered, her words appearing unusually more of a command than a request.

Patrick bowed his head and struggled to take a breath. "My love, it's four in the afternoon and our son is in the next room."

Shelagh smiled in a burst of confidence, but nevertheless kept her voice to a whisper. "And your point, Doctor, is?" Her husband groaned and habitually fidgeted with the knot of his already loosened tie. Shelagh's lips ever so gently pressed beneath his ear, tasting the warmth of his weathered skin with a maddening delicacy.

"My point is..." Patrick sighed, giving in completely, letting his hand trail lightly across her thigh. "We'll just have to be quiet then won't we?" he breathed, cutting off his own words by crushing his mouth onto his wife's. Instantly she parted her lips allowed him access with a long sigh. Teasing her husband was fun, but she realised it involved teasing herself too, which it would seem only led to a risky build-up of emotion that now found its release in Patrick's unreserved embrace. He moved to kiss her neck, roughly pulling apart her cardigan to skim his teeth across her collarbone.

Never before had a kiss between them become so immediately intense. Hands roamed everywhere; Shelagh felt sure she would be visibly bruised by tomorrow from the unusual roughness of their clinch. She found her boldness transcribed by his visceral reactions into an altogether more alarming key, one which thrilled her with its raw promiscuity. She raked her trembling fingers through Patrick's hair as they pressed their bodies desperately against each other.

Suddenly, pushed backwards by the force of Patrick's kiss, she bumped into the sideboard, making the decanter and brandy glasses clink loudly. They stopped dead, eyes dark and ablaze, panting heavily, listening for any sign from Timothy in the kitchen. When no danger appeared imminent they resumed their ministrations, muffling their giggles between their lips, lightheaded from their boldness and aching with desire. Patrick continued to push Shelagh backwards until she made contact with the living room door. Still kissing her fiercely he fumbled with her skirt as she made light work of his trouser buttons, biting her lip to keep in a cry as he found his way into her and pinned her against the cold wood, burying his face in her neck as he did so, drinking in her heady floral perfume.

Shelagh soon let out a yelp, almost giving them away, but Patrick was quick to muffle the sound with his lips once more, kissing her deeply until they both wilted, exhausted and glowing, against the door frame. "Well that was unexpected," exhaled Patrick, gently resting his chin upon his wife's head and feeling her laugh shakily under her breath.  
"Indeed," she murmured, pulling away and smiling coyly up at him. "I think I outdid myself."

Patrick stroked her petal-flushed cheek and kissed her softly on the lips, lingering there as he admonished, "I should think that's quite enough boldness for one day Mrs Turner."

"On the contrary Doctor Turner," came the breathless reply. "It's only four o'clock in the afternoon. I haven't even scratched the surface!"

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	2. The Navy Skirt Suit

**An unapologetic saucy dribble ;)**

The sky was starting to fade to an inky grey, the shadows were long and stripes of dark smoke were beginning to rise in their hundreds from the chimneys of Poplar. Doctor Turner sat hunched over the bakelite surface of the Community Centre kitchen table, absently munching a biscuit as he struggled with a backlog of notes from that afternoon's clinic. He sighed. Normally he was perfectly proficient at keeping detailed comments as he saw each patient so that he would have no trouble in writing them up in full later on. Today, however, Shelagh had decided to wear her navy skirt suit.

Despite his best intentions he found himself being plagued by highly distracting thoughts each time he heard her prim tones carry across the hall. He even found himself popping out of his cubicle every so often, when he should have been writing aide memoires, just to catch a glimpse of her as she sashayed up and down the aisles, completely oblivious to his puppy-eyed scrutiny. In short he had been acting like a love-struck teenager all afternoon; now the evening was drawing in and he was paying the penalty. Having moved to the kitchen in the hope that a change of scene and a cup of tea would improve his productivity, his wandering mind was certainly not playing ball. Was it three children Mrs Emerson had already, or four?

He vaguely noticed a shift in the light as the kitchen door was pushed open slightly, followed by two soft knocks, which he recognised instantly. "Come in." Patrick didn't raise his head from his notes as the door opened further. A quick glance across the room showed a pair of tiny heeled feet in the doorway, clacking softly on the linoleum as their owner turned to gently pull the door to again. Still not looking up he watched through his eyelashes as the feet came closer, turning into slim stockinged calves then knees skimmed by a navy blue hem. He continued to stare at his papers, pen poised, pretending to be absorbed in Mrs Emerson's notes as he tried desperately to postpone the moment when he'd look up and become utterly lost to his wife's irresistible charms.

"Patrick?" At that one hesitant word the doctor raised his head and fell into those infinite eyes without the slightest resistance, grinning foolishly. He really was tired. "Here you are, I was beginning to think you'd gone home without me. It's nearly six and I don't know about you, but with the day I've had I feel just about ready for bed."

Patrick's gaze noticeably flicked down and up Shelagh's body and he raised an eyebrow. "Mmmm," he consented, taking another bite of his biscuit. "Good idea, I'm knackered." Shelagh blushed and tutted, subconsciously smoothing down her skirt, then, in a futile attempt to allay this conversation from the direction it was so evidently heading in, she took his empty cup to the sink. She could feel her husband's eyes boring into her back as she turned on the tap, the water almost stinging her hands as her skin began to grow pleasantly warm. She cleared her throat.

"Have you finished that paperwork?" she asked brightly, leaving the cup on the draining board and turning to brush a few scattered biscuit crumbs from the table. When she leaned forward she was surprised to find a hand immediately trapping hers on the surface and another trailing lightly up the exposed skin of her wrist. She shivered, using her free hand to tuck a loose tendril behind her ear, a nervous habit which did not go unnoticed by her husband. He chuckled and released his grip slightly, stroking the back of her hand instead with tiny movements of his thumb. With his other hand he pushed together the scattered sheets of paper that were littering the table and shoved them clumsily into their file, his eyes never once leaving Shelagh's. "I'll take that as a yes," she said slowly, a slight smirk playing at the corners of her mouth betraying her delight as his intentions, no matter how proper she was attempting to be.

Before either of them knew it Patrick's hand was at her waist, moving downwards to caress the curve of her hip through the figure-hugging fabric, then trailing south, grazing the side of her breast on its way to her neck. Her breath hitched and Patrick was undone. He stood and abruptly pulled Shelagh towards him in a passionate clinch, the tensions of the day dissolving as he surrendered himself to the unassuming object of his distraction.

Shelagh's first reaction was to tense up, bringing her hands to his shoulders to prize him away. This was their workplace after all, and they were still technically on professional duty, despite the late hour. Any one of the nurses or nuns still clearing up in the hall could walk in, hoping to sneak a slice of cake before the cycle home. But there was no way she could resist for long - she never could. One of Patrick's strong hands was spread firmly across her upper back and the other completely encircled her waist, holding her so fiercely she thought she might lose her breath. She gave up her half-hearted resistance, her head swaying sideways as his lips became more insistent. She kneaded his shoulders, sighing into his mouth and shutting her eyes, overwhelmed for the moment. For the first time she did not care about where they were or whether their actions were appropriate. She had thought herself rather bold on previous occasions, stealing quick kisses from her husband as he sat at his desk at the surgery or letting her hand brush against his as they passed in the corridor. But _this_ was something else entirely. Both the illicit feel of this encounter, and the new, intense side of her husband it seemed to induce, thrilled her so much she surprised herself with her eager reactions to it.

It was Patrick who eventually tore himself away with a bashful smile and a breathless apology for his extremely unprofessional conduct. Shelagh, finding herself incapable of coherent speech, merely smirked and straightened her glasses.

She decided at that precise moment that she should wear her navy skirt suit more often.

**Please review if you have the time :)**


	3. The Dance

**Thank you for the reviews so far, they really do provide that last bit of encouragement needed to write :) **

**This ficlet is my take on what happened after_ that_ annoying cut... I'm afraid the depth of DTE feels has made me completely forget how to write but I hope you enjoy it anyway!**

"Puff, please," she demanded, stopping briefly to lean into Patrick's proffered hand. Her lips brushed his fingers for the most fleeting of moments as she took a puff and he grinned, watching with laughing eyes as she sprang back to the pile of records on her lap, exhaling daintily as she went.

"You can always have one of your own," he chuckled, leaning back slightly into his armchair, his brow furrowing for a second as he considered his elevated heartbeat and slight light-headedness. He realised what he was feeling was an almost overwhelming sense of calm and contentment (despite the carnage of sheet music that lay at his feet and his wife's excited flitting about). The feeling had become so lost to him over the past fretful weeks; its reoccurrence now was certainly worth the wait, and he was not going to let it go uncelebrated. The fire and zest that he so loved in his Shelagh was back, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was also enjoying the view from his chair as his wife leant over the turn table, admonishing primly as she did so:

"No because that would make me a smoker." He laughed then. He could almost see the strain and worry escaping on his breath and floating away with the wisps of smoke, dispersing into nothingness under the weight of his happiness. All of a sudden he felt ten years younger, a sensation he had experienced so many times at the fingertips of his bride, but which had disappeared recently, leaving a gnawing sense of weariness and woe in its place. He let his gaze wander over Shelagh's figure for a moment, then, smirking softly to himself, he stubbed out his cigarette as Jim Reeves struck up. He knew exactly what he planned to do.

Shelagh remained looking at the record player as he rose purposefully to his feet, still not meeting his gaze as he took the few steps to be by her side. She knew what he was thinking, at least she thought she did. "Jim Reeves," she sighed. "Perfect." She wanted to cling to the productivity of the evening as long as she could, but the smile in her voice was as unmistakable as in his. He held out his hand.

"You and Jim Reeves," he teased, grinning as Shelagh giggled coyly and placed her hand in his, showing not one breath of the hesitation she would have done earlier on in their marriage. He pulled her to him with more force than she expected, causing her blush a little and lower her gaze, her heart fluttering uncontrollably as she felt his hand spread wide across her back. When she looked back up her heart nearly burst with love and relief at the boundless joy she found in his smile, his creased eyes, the tilt of his head as he studied her with an ever disbelieving adoration.

"This might just be a very appropriate choice," she breathed, sighing slightly as she let him take the lead, both of them revelling in the very fact they were sharing such a tender physical intimacy after their blip where neither wanted to touch the other for fear of scaring them away. They danced like this a little longer, staring deep into each other's eyes. There wasn't much room for them to manoeuvre, so they soon ended up just swaying, holding on to each other for dear life, letting the music do the talking they had been needing to do for so long. Soon, Patrick found himself ever so gently pulling her closer, bringing his face to within inches of hers, hearing her breath hitch and feeling her grip tighten in his. Patrick's childish grin had been replaced with something altogether more intense. He stroked his thumb over her hand, the other leaving her back to pull out a hairpin, running his fingers through the tendril that floated down, his breath hot against her neck. He pulled out another pin, then another.

She swallowed, letting her eyelids flutter shut as his lips grazed along her temple, then her cheekbone. At that moment the song came to an end. There was a soft crackling for a few moments before the arm clicked out of place and the record span slowly to a stop.

"You like my choice then?" she whispered into the silence as Patrick's lips stopped dangerously near to the corner of her mouth.

Patrick answered in the only way he could think of, pressing his lips onto hers with a smile, raking his hand through her hair, the other returning to its place on her back, pressing her into him and stopping her from collapsing with sheer bliss. Shelagh ran her hands down the satin of the back of his waistcoat, kneading helplessly at his waist and letting her head tilt backwards as he scorched beneath her earlobe, down her neck and along the hemline of her dress, nipping her collarbone with his teeth as he passed. "Patrick," she gasped. "You know, I haven't nearly considered all of my options yet." With considerable willpower she prised herself from their clinch and made her way, albeit unsteadily, back to the record player, carefully slipping the Jim Reeves back in its sleeve before picking up a well-worn record from its home behind the turntable. She returned to her husband's outstretched arms as the familiar rich tones of Nat King Cole filled the room. He caressed her neck and laughed softly into her hair, remembering the many times they had danced around the living room to this - 'their song'.

She started to sing, softly so as to not wake Timothy, as they swayed in an intimate circle. "When I fall in love, it will be-" She did not get any further as Patrick covered her mouth with his own, sweeping her up into his arms before she could protest.

Nat King Cole finished his refrain to an empty room, the record crackling momentarily before whirring to a stop.

**Please review :)**


End file.
